


Between clouds of steam and drops of wine.

by NahirHolmes (orphan_account)



Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Harry Hart Lives, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2016-02-22
Packaged: 2018-05-22 12:41:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6079713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/NahirHolmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“The opening of Kingsman 2 will have a sauna and the sauna door opens and out comes Colin."</p><p>My version of the scene, with more tension and rather gayer because why not.</p><p>(No, that's not an spoiler, it's just a comment Matthew Vaughn made.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Between clouds of steam and drops of wine.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have a beta and English is not my mother tongue, so you might find grammar mistakes, I apologise if you do so.  
> Hope you enjoy it!
> 
> NH.
> 
> (I did probably use too many semicolons, sorry again!)

Merlin felt conflicted. On one hand, he was so fucking relieved to know that Harry was alive, and on the other he was not sure he could be able to stop himself from actually killing him for not telling him he was alive.

He clenched his fists, partially because he was nervous, anxious, partially because he was angry, hurt. He took off his jumper, undid his shirt’s buttons, walked back and forth through the waiting room in a futile attempt to organise his thoughts. He waited for ten minutes that seemed like hours until the door opened, clouds of steam warmed the waiting room for a few seconds as Harry stepped out of the sauna.

He was there, he was alive and it was real, it was not a dream but reality, Merlin realised; and with that his own heart began pounding inside his chest wildly.

"Merlin,” Harry said; his voice as nothing Merlin had ever heard before, like dazzled, as if the mere sight of Merlin was enough reason to take his breath away. His eyes —or eye, since his left eye was covered with a patch— looked at Merlin with an unspoken apology written on them.

"Galahad, late again, sir", said Merlin back, as if nothing had changed, although everything had. His voice had been neutral, almost cold. "Like four months late. " He looked away from Harry, his eyes got fixed on the floor. "That's a new record."

Yet, a tense smirk spread on Harry's face.

"I'm so glad to see you."

Merlin looked at him at that moment, his body was soaked with sweat, his brown chocolate curls were stuck all over his forehead and he was thinner than when he had last seen him. Only a towel covered his body, the imminent arousal clearly visible through the fabric.

Merlin cleared his throat, conscious of his increasing blushing.

"Yes, I've noticed." A pause. His eyes fixed on the floor again. A cold, tense voice followed. "You should get dressed."

They had been playing this insufferable dance for almost two decades; a cheeky smile, an insinuating remark, a silent offer none of them dared to accept or decline, years of knowing their feelings but also locking them up in the deepest part of their chests.  
Merlin didn't want to dance right now, he wanted explanations, a reason not to stop the music, and for that they needed to go back to the HQ. He picked up his jumper, did his buttons up and exited the room knowing that Harry would soon follow.

×

Harry stood up, picked up the bottle of Guinness and filled his glass for second time in an hour, all that under the inscrutable look of Merlin who sat in front of him, bags under his eyes evidenced the many sleepless nights he had gone through. None of them had said a word, the tension seemed to have followed them, as if the steam had filtered through the doors of the plane and stuck to their skins.

“Do they know?” Harry's voice was calm and cautious, his drink moved softly inside the glass as Harry waited for an answer.

One minute. Two. Merlin looked at him —his eyes warm with the flames of resentment but also filled with the relief of the sight in front of them— and kept his mouth shut, then he stood up too, considered getting closer; thought better and didn't move.

“No, they don't.”

Harry took a sip.

“Why haven't you told them?”

Merlin closed his eyes, the fire went off. He couldn't bear seeing Harry hurt because of him, despite everything he was feeling he couldn't bear it.

“I don't know. A heartbeat, he continued. “I needed to talk to you, to see you, to know this wasn't a wicked joke or a good dream. I didn't want to give them false hopes. No, let me finish, Harry. You don't know how they were left when you were shot, did you know Eggsy was watching the stream? Did you know how heartbroken he was? And how, right after that he found out Arthur was a traitor and had to kill him? How the world went to shit and we almost fail to save it? And while all that happened we couldn't even mourn you because we were too busy trying to set the world back into its place while you relaxed in a fucking sauna!”

Harry finished his glass from one gulp. Merlin had turned his back at him, quite literally.

“Have you finished?”

A weak, strangled sound.

“Yes.”

“It seems,” Harry said, moving closer to Merlin, “that you got the idea of me relaxing in that _fucking sauna_ as if I had been there for four months straight fixed on that beautiful head of yours.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but it disappeared as he continued: “Yet you fail to see how irrational that is.”

“Oh right, because faking your own death is terrifically rational, isn't it?“

“I _did not_ fake my own death.” Harry's voice came out rushed, heated. A breath in, a breath out. The same voice, now calmer, began for second time: “After I was shot I went into a coma. I woke up after a week, and was then informed I had lost an eye.”

Merlin couldn't help but remember the patch and shiver at the memory of it, which was as clear as if he were standing in front of it.

“But..!” A bitter sound that was supposed to be a giggle but could not be labelled as such reached Merlin's ears. “That's not even the worst of it.”

A few minutes went by in a silence that stabbed the wizard's heart, because he was sure this had to be more painful for the other spy than to himself. However, he remained without looking at Harry.

“Right after that, ‘because of the commotion’ had told me the doctor, I went psychotic again and attacked a nurse, fortunately I didn't kill her.”

Merlin turned sharply after that and faced Harry, who now stood right in front of him, his noses barely far from touching.

“That's not possible.” Incredulity and distrust made the words come as a bitter reproach out of Merlin's mouth. All the regret and guilt he could've felt because of the way he had previously treated Harry disappeared and left room only to deception and warning. “All the people who were affected by the SIM cards recovered immediately after Valentine was killed, no side effects were reported, no second psychotic breaks were registered.”

Harry sighed and looked at Merlin for a long moment before speaking again.

“You've forgotten I wasn't affected by any of those nasty SIM cards, Merlin. I received the neurological wave at its full potential and it affected me differently than it did to the owners of the SIM cards.” As Merlin remained silent Harry continued: “Every time I got really angry or distressed I became the monster you saw in that church. And that happened very often because I couldn't remember who I really was. The doctors never knew about that because I kept telling them my name was Adrian LeDuc and I was supposed to go to Buenos Aires to take care of my mother and my friend and roommate Jack.”

Merlin smiled weakly for first time since Harry had seen him and that won him a brighter, nostalgic smile in return.

“That was your cover for your third mission as Galahad, I made it up.”

“Yes. Yet I knew that that didn't fit, and every time I transformed I got closer to the truth, until a month ago when I remembered everything.”

“A MONTH?!” Merlin could feel the anger boiling again inside him, he couldn't remember the last time his emotions had changed so quickly in less than half an hour, in fact he was sure he'd never experienced such a thing. A month knowing the truth, a month knowing everything, a month remaining in complete silence.

“Oh, fuck me. Jesus fucking Christ, Merlin.” Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eye. “During that month I kept having psychotic breaks! Every single one of them was worst than the last one, even when the confusion had already gone the effects of the wave remained and I wasn't allowed to leave the hospital until they stopped, which was right before I called you.”

Silence.

“Oh.” Merlin felt dizzy, the emotions were too strong, too violent.

“Yes, ‘oh’,” said Harry softly, suddenly taking into account all the pressure his dear wizard had been under.

Then a gasp. A sudden change in the atmosphere they both noticed; Merlin's hands covered his face.

“I'm so sorry, Harry.” All the grief Merlin had felt but kept inside him, —for he couldn't allow himself to fall apart when there was so much left to fix—, seemed to escape from the deepest part of his body, against his will, as if the chains which held his emotions captive had weakened so much they could no longer function. His voice, broken: “God, Harry, I've missed you so much.”

Harry got closer to Merlin, his lips moved near his neck, never touched it, Merlin shivered all the same.

“It's okay, my dear.” Harry's lips, even closer, yet remaining in the air; “it's okay.”

Merlin cleared his throat, stepped back. They mustn't dance no more. He wasn't strong enough for that, at least not at the present moment.

“The plane is about to land, you should get ready.” The layer of coldness in his voice wasn't thick enough to hide the urge that ran through the wizard's body, Harry saw right through it.

“Merlin.” Harry moved forward as Merlin stepped back again.

“Please Harry, don't. We can't — I can't.” Even if it wasn't thick enough, it wasn't coldness what held Merlin still in his place, it was fear, a fear like he had never felt before, because he was too damaged, because there was nothing he could do about it.

 

When the plane landed, all the evidence of what had happened inside it was gone, if any of them was experiencing something else other than a vague happiness for seeing each other after so long, they didn't show it.

×

A month went by, Harry was no longer Galahad but Arthur, and Merlin couldn't be any better about that. Arthur rarely went into the field, Arthur was always safe. Merlin was thankful.

What happened in the plane was never mentioned again, their lips remained sealed in a mutual agreement, even when it was never really discussed between them.

Harry understood Merlin, understood the pain he'd gone through, the damage beyond repair it had caused him. Yet, he couldn't help but try to get closer to his wizard, invite him a drink, ask him about his day or about that new piece of equipment he had been working on. All of that was answered in a neutral tone, as if didn't matter, as if it didn't kill Merlin, as if didn't cost him an awful lot of work to answer as he used to, as if it meant nothing, although now it meant everything.

They both tried to avoid themselves, but were dragged into each other in a hallway, in the coffee machine, in the gym, everywhere, for their feet seemed to work on their own, always following the other; the insufferable dance never ending.

 

Merlin sat tense on his chair, his heart kept pounding the blood through his veins at a worrying speed. A shot, another. One person dead, another. Blood over the camera, blood everywhere; the hands that had caressed him countless times with the softness of a feather were now hard, wild and unstoppable, killing without mercy. His own breath rushed, his own mind cloudy with desperation. He called him by his codename, in a futile attempt to make him recover his reason, nothing happened; he used his christian name, as last resource, hopelessly, vainly. His eyes saw no longer a human, the human he loved, but a killing machine. He wanted to tear his eyes apart from the screen, but he couldn't. Over and over he saw him shooting, the bodies falling dead on the floor, no remorse on his face. Over and over he'd wanted to grab him, to stop him, to stop this torture, but nothing can be done when miles separated them from the other, almost morbidly.

And then, silence.

A cold, unbreakable silence. A rushed breath, slowing down. A look to the right, then to the left that sent shivers down his spine, for it revealed all the bodies, there, dropped on the floor as if they didn't matter, massacred as if an animal had taken their lives. Maybe, an animal had, Merlin thought, for the responsible of such a killing could not longer be called human.

And yet, it was his Harry who got out of the church walking. Scared, like a child. It was his Harry who stood in front of Valentine, demanding explanations.

And then, the shot. Eggsy was screaming, but Merlin couldn't hear it, it sounded in the distance, very very far away from him, muted by the sound of his own world falling apart. It couldn't be, Harry couldn't be dead, it was impossible, a nightmare, a wicked joke. Even when he saw the blood running out of his head and over the pavement, he kept repeating that to himself. Because Harry Hart could not be dead, because Merlin could not be alive then.

 

“You fell asleep.” It was Harry's voice —mad, rather disappointed, because he'd expected Merlin to go home and rest, even though he knew he wouldn't—,  which brought him back to reality, his back was sore, his neck was too rigid, his head was upon his desk, he couldn't move.

Merlin groaned as he heard Harry approaching to him. Tried to get his head off his desk, failed.

“You were calling for me.” At that weak affirmation, Merlin gained a little bit of strength and moved. He sat properly on his chair, fixed his glasses, closed his eyes, sighed; it was nothing new: nightmares, yet Harry sounded taken back by what he had witnessed.

Merlin's eyes remained closed.

“Yes.” There was no point in denying that.

“What happened?” Harry's hands grabbed his shoulders and began working on them, pressing here and there. Merlin groaned, this time with pleasure rather than annoyance, as Harry worked on his neck.

“You got shot.” Merlin's voice was light, almost a sigh. Harry's hands intensified their work, a moan escaped the wizard's lips, the pain disappeared, he couldn't think properly. “God, Harry.”

“I'm here now, Merlin. I'm here and I need you, and I'm sure you need me as well.”

Oh, what a bastard, thought Merlin, he opened his mouth to say something but in that moment Harry's lips approached to his neck and began kissing it, and the words died inside his throat. His entire body had transformed into gelatine, the tiredness was long forgotten. It had been so long since they had kissed… His own head turned instinctively towards Harry and so their lips collided.

Hot and wet, their tongues fought a battle with no winner, frenetic, unstoppable, their lips moved and they explored the other's mouths with passion and desire. And then Harry sat on top of him, and the movements which were before frenetic now were calculated and slow, each inch of skin was touched with precision. Merlin's hands were buried under Harry's hair, disheveling him, then they were tangled around his neck, pressing his shoulders.

And then, nothing. Harry had moved away from Merlin as if he'd burnt him. The wizard groaned as his recently increased arousal was left unattended. Before Merlin could even complain about such an abrupt ending, Harry spoke, his voice dry, deep, a bit ashamed:

“Jesus, Merlin, I'm an idiot, you need to sleep!”

A dry, incredulous laugh was his answer.

“You wanker come here and turn me on as a fucking chimney after thirty fucking years and then stop all of the sudden because _I need to sleep_?!” A cheeky smile spread upon Merlin's face, he opened his legs wide, his cock was hard inside his trousers, Harry licked his lips with anticipation: “Come here and fuck me, will you?”

 

Steam began to fill the room as Harry unfastened his trousers, and Merlin was sweating, his breath was slowing down, the air wouldn't reach his lungs, no matter how hard he breathed, Harry didn't seem to notice it. Merlin was drowning, his vision had begun to blacken, he tried to scream, over and over, yet no sound seemed to leave his mouth.

Harry, he needed Harry, he was dying wasn't he? Harry stood in front of him, impassive, indifferent. Help, Merlin needed help. Why wasn't Harry helping him? He screamed again, he felt throat aching as he tried to force the sound out of it. Nothing.

Darkness was approaching to him, slowly embracing his body, sticking to it as the steam did, he knew he wouldn't last much longer. He couldn't understand why this was happening, he couldn't —

 

A brusque gasp and Merlin was finally awake. He was still in the HQ, in his office, and he was alone. Sweat spread all over his body, his cock was painfully hard inside his trousers; he needed a cold shower and a bed. Now. The stiffness that had owned his body, —and disappeared—, while he was dreaming, now was back, worse than ever. He stretched his arms and cracked his neck and then went straight to the showers.

As the water fell down his body Merlin did his best to calm himself down. That dream had been something like he'd never experienced before, reviving the episode of the church hadn't been very pleasant but adding the illusion of Harry's kisses had been too much, he was worn out, he needed some days off.

Merlin's laugh echoed in the showers. Days off… Sure.

His arousal was insisting, so Merlin set his hands to work, remembering the false sensation of Harry's hands upon his body, slow movements had him moaning silently; his fingers worked on his balls and in the base of his manhood, Merlin groaned. His hands quickened, _God_ , Harry's tongue against his, Harry's hands on his neck, Harry's lips on his neck, on his cock, sucking, playing along with his tongue…

He reached the climax, breathed in deeply, the salty smell of his semen went away quickly with the water.

×

Christmas wasn't something that Kingsman agents celebrated very often, most of them were too far away from the other at the time to actually celebrate anything.

 _But Merlin, please, we have to celebrate Harry’s big return! Our friends don't come back from death every fucking day, do they?_ had said Eggsy. _Even when you'll have to behave and dress properly? Is that what you want?_ A decided nod had been his answer.

And there he was. A glass of bitter wine rested in his hand, the music was too loud, he couldn't share the festive feeling everyone seemed to be going through. It had been three months since the nightmare, and since then they had been more and more frequent.

It was always the same: the church episode, he waking up, Harry and him kissing, the steam filling the air, it taking his breath away, and then darkness.

Eggsy waved at him, told him to get closer.

Harry stood next to Eggsy, dazzling as always. Merlin smiled gently and declined. His eyes, however, remained fixed in the older agent.

Harry was the very image of a proper english gentleman: elegant, confident, charming. He'd, even managed to make everyone ignore the piece of fabric that covered his eye with amazing ease.

Merlin closed his eyes for a few seconds and took a sip. There was something wickedly comforting about the way the bitter drink filled his mouth. He took a deep breath, now more relaxed; the music and the voices were momentarily muted. The cold, light breeze of the night caressed his neck.

“We're matching.” Harry's voice was deep and low against his ear. Slightly amused. Slightly cautious.

They hadn't talked to each other in months, not as they used to; because _how was your day? It seems like it's_ _going to rain, don't you think?_ Or _what time is the meeting at? It's at nine o'clock am, don't be late_ , _Arthur_ , —in the hallways, in the gym; wherever they found each other—, could not be called talking. They were torture, stubbornness. The long and friendly talking had died inside the plane.

“Are we? I hadn't noticed.” His lighthearted tone was a dirty lie. Of course he had noticed, his tie was of a dark red silk while Harry was wearing a velvet suit of the same colour that drove Merlin crazy. All the angles of his body were dyed with the colour of the wine the wizard held on his hand and all kinds of fantasies had filled his mind in the time he'd been in the party.

“Hmm.” Harry wasn't buying it. A insinuating, rather seductive smile spread upon his lips. Merlin cursed internally. “Would you do me the great honour of dancing with me?”

Well, Merlin wasn't expecting that at all. His eyebrows arched, his eyes didn't hide the surprise.

Harry's laugh was soft, relaxed.

“Would you?”

A soft tango had began playing, a few agents had moved towards the dance floor along with their partners, ready to dance.

“You want me to dance tango with you.” It wasn't a question, Merlin's voice was almost sceptical. “And you would be the young beautiful lady?”

It was Harry's turn to arch his eyebrows, his voice filled with a fake offended tone.

“Why would _I_ be the lady?”

“Why, I thought it was obvious; you're shorter.”

Merlin left the glass of wine upon a table nearby and took Harry's hand before he could answer. They approached to the centre of the dance floor, Harry couldn't stop smiling.

“So, you think I'm young and beautiful?”

Merlin had his left around Harry's hip, the right one held Harry's, the warmness of his body was a blessing to the wizard, and they moved with elegance and looseness across the dance floor. Yes, of course Merlin thought he was beautiful, he always had and he was sure he always would. They were no longer young, though, but Merlin couldn't care less about that. He loved Harry and it was time for him to know it. He smiled teasingly.

“Well, actually, tango dancers are mostly supposed to be young and beautiful. I guess I'm just not that lucky.”

Harry's smile faded, yet he continued dancing, for a few moments, speechless. None of them were conscious of the crowd that had stopped dancing and now was watching them closely.

“That's it, isn't it? Why you no longer want me.”

“What?!” The wizard couldn't believe his ears. For first time since Harry was back Merlin noticed the awkwardness that stuck to his mannerisms, the bitter resignation in his voice, as if it were obvious and he'd failed to see it. _How could Merlin want me? I'm broken. “_ Harry... I — God, I was joking.”

“No, no. It's okay. I understand.”

“Wait! Harry!”

Before Merlin could even move, Harry got rid of his grip and left the room.

 

The air had gotten colder and Merlin cursed to himself for not bringing his coat with him, a thin layer of snow covered the streets. He walked for long moments, with the moon and the stars as only witnesses, until he reached Harry's house.

He sighed. A cold breeze made him shiver, —or so he wanted to think—, yet deep inside him he knew that it had nothing to do with the temperature.

Another sigh. He knocked at the door, waited, nothing. It wasn't usual for him to just drop by, maybe Harry wasn't home.

He knocked at the door again, a bit firmer this time.

Ten minutes went by, and a hoarse voice answered:

“Who is it?”

“It's me.”

The sound that followed was a sound very well known to Merlin, Harry was deactivating the security the wizard had installed. It took him longer than the usual to do so and Merlin couldn't help but wonder how much had Harry drunk.

The door opened, the same hoarse voice spoke again:

“What the hell do you want?!”

Harry's hair was a mess, some of his shirt’s buttons were undone, his bowtie hanged untied around his neck and he lay lazily against the doorframe, a half-finished bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“We need to talk.”

“There's nothing we need to talk about.” Harry's voice was resigned, “you don't have to apologise or feel guilty for anything just… Forget it. Good night.” He spoke quickly, tried to close the door, Merlin stopped him.

“I haven't come here to apologise, Harry. I've come here because I'm tired of fighting my feelings for you, I'm tired of making both of us suffer. I need you, Harry.”

“So, you mean that even though I’m old and worn out you still want to shag me?”

Merlin smiled.

“Well, yes. But also that I love you, idiot.”

“You love me, huh?”

“Jesus, Harry I've come all the way walking from the HQ to here because I couldn't get a fucking cab and froze my ass because it's fucking freezing out here just to tell you that I love you and you still doubt it?!”

Harry laughed loudly, a bright smile lit up his face.

“Oh, my darling. Come here and let me warm up that lovely ass of yours.”

“My pleasure,” said Merlin stepping in and closing the door behind him.

“Believe me, it's mine. ” Harry's hands embraced him, their mouths collided and they began kissing. It wasn't a gentle kiss, it was filled with passion and need from both sides, for they had craved this for way too long. Merlin gasped as Harry’s hands grabbed his ass, and Harry smiled against his lips.

 

Fin.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm crap at writing smut, guys, I owe you that. I might continue this, though, if I feel like it, but I will make no promises. I also could write about Galahad's third mission, who knows.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading!  
> NH.


End file.
